


Graveyard Shift

by PhantomWriter



Series: It's a weird start (but we'll be fine) [16]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:58:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: At exactly half past two in the morning, there was this mysterious customer who always came at the small grocery store Barry was part-timing at.





	Graveyard Shift

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta-ed, as usual.

It wasn't that bad actually.

There were the nice customers who were rather fond of him, especially those teenagers and old women telling him he was cute, which in turn would make him blush (much to their glee). His boss was a nice, rotund man; a bit sweaty, but not that it was ever an issue to Barry. He wasn't the stereotype round, mean boss who was constantly looking for reasons to fire him. He was glad to have Barry as an employee in fact, saying it was good to have customers even at the dead hours simply because of Barry.

Which reminded him what was the downside of working as a part-timer in a small grocery, aside from being a college student by day. Joe had been insisting for Barry to start at the CCPD early instead, said it would be some kind of internship for him. Of course he didn't tell his foster father he wouldn't get paid in an internship at the police precinct, and Barry was feeling indebted to Joe already. Barry was planning to save up for at least a quarter (or half if he could) of his student loans. He got paid well as a cashier, half due to the loyal customers he brought in, and the other half with his graveyard shift that nobody wanted.

If not for the term and research papers he was doing during work hours, he would be left with nothing to do. Though there were also times when he was finished with them and glancing at the clock would tell him he wasn't out for four more hours. Barry would be accompanied by silence that was interrupted once or twice by either a lone customer who was out for a can of soda, or the rats gnawing their large teeth on instant noodles (or anything they could get their teeth on), sounding as if far away but not unheard.

Like at the moment.

It was half past two in the morning and Barry was already done doing random searches on his laptop after submitting an assignment online. One could only look at cute kittens, or teacup dogs, or babies so much.

On his own phone, he played The Bloomfield's  _Never Let Her Slip Away_  on his earphones, setting the volume moderate in case a customer would come in.

He wasn't at the first chorus yet when the bell attached to the door chimed, signaling a customer. Barry hastily put his earphones away, stood straighter and put on a smile that shouldn't be possible at this time in the morning. "Welcome, sir."

A man came in, shoulders hunched low and hands stuffed on a faded brown, leather jacket's pockets. There was a worn, red baseball cap sitting atop the man's head, obscuring most of his face to Barry as he passed by him and didn't acknowledge his presence.

_Oh_   _no_.

He knew specifically this kind of people—not wanting to show their face, wearing jackets with probably more spacious pockets than they appear… basically obscuring any prominent traits. Barry only heard of nasty holdups stories, but he wasn't expecting to experience one that time. The neighborhood wasn't even that terrible! But he supposed criminals were everywhere.

Barry surreptitiously turned upwards behind him, the glint of the obligatory security camera lenses giving him a bit of hope, which was squashed the moment he realized that it would be practically useless when one's face was covered. And if he remembered correctly, his boss mentioned that it wasn't working anymore.

Ah, damn.

Maybe he could handle himself?

_Geez, Barry, you're not even sure yourself_.

The stranger disappeared at the end of the aisle for basic hygiene section. Barry gulped when the man was out of his sight, and then tensed further at the anticipation of him jumping in front of Barry and waving a gun around.

Like any minute now.

_God_ , he was too young for this.

Three minutes trickled past and nothing happened.

His nervousness diminished considerably, and then drained altogether when the man emerged from the aisles to the cashier, carrying a basket full of what looked like basic necessities and mostly canned food. Barry didn't even notice the man got a basket.

The customer set down the heavy looking basket, the thud enough to cut through the silence and snapping Barry from his reverie. The anxiety was still there, but mixed with what seemed like an embarrassment for his assumptions. Quietly, he rang the customer while trying not to let his stare linger for too long lest he was caught.

On his furtive glances though, he noted details like the man's beard—not much shabby that it appeared unkempt, though it was as if it wasn't intended to grow. Although, he could have been wrong; there was no shaving cream nor razor blade along with the purchased items such as the toothbrush and toothpaste. Not that Barry was usually reading much on what customers buy, but it was exactly what he was doing currently. He shrugged the thoughts away and focused on something else. The man was of large build pure of developed muscles, judging from the way his jacket hugged his frame, and he was of the same height as Barry, which that was saying something when he was a six-footer himself. Somebody got lucky in the physique department.

It was merely by chance when he clearly saw the man's face.

Behind the beard was a handsome face, the supermodel type or a celebrity. Well, he did look familiar that Barry began wondering if he had seen him before.

Sharp blue eyes snapped up to him.

Barry turned away instantly, if a little late. He didn't met his eyes when he told the customer how much. The man handed him the amount, and then promptly leaving with his paper bag with brisk steps before Barry could count if he was given the proper amount.

There was an extra $10.

It appeared that the man wasn't planning to get it back.

_Weird_. But Barry supposed he could give it back when the man returned.

He has a feeling it wouldn't be the last time he would be seeing him after all.

* * *

It was three nights after when the unknown man was seen again.

There was no other customer around save him, wearing the same clothes and pulling his cap as low as possible. There were only few items that he purchased: three cans of Red Bull, two pens, and a notepad.

Barry refused to look at him this time, afraid that he would be noticed. As he waited for the receipt to print, he pulled out the folded bill under the monitor.

"You left your change last time, sir. I thought to return it when once you came here again."

Those eyes were piercing him again, with suspicion, but not entirely unkind. He considered Barry's outstretched hand before shaking his head. "Keep it. It's yours."

"Oh, um, I insist."

"Thank you, but take it." The man held Barry's open hand and folded it. Barry tensed at the contact, making the man withdraw immediately and regretting the movement. "Think of it as a tip for being the only store open in this town at this hours."

With that, the man left. Barry returned the bill to its previous place.

* * *

The third time Barry had rung him, he apologized.

"I may have stared at you rudely when you first came in, sir. Sorry."

To his surprise though, the man's lips curled into a small smile. "It's alright to be suspicious."

"Still… I may have thought you were somebody with ill intentions." Barry no longer thought of him as that, not when he appeared thrice this week, always at the same hour. Do potential hold-uppers even do that?

"Nothing wrong with that," the man said. "You're alone here at this time of the night. You have every right to be suspicious of who comes in."

"I suppose so. I just don't want to offend you, sir. That's all."

"No offense taken." He glanced at the direction of the security camera. "Is that working?"

Barry hesitated at first whether to answer truthfully. He sighed. "No."

The customer hummed in thought. After assuring that there would be no customer about to come in, he removed his cap and turned to Barry. "You should have it replaced."

Looking at the man fully, the question at the tip of Barry's tongue was if they had met outside their encounters at the grocery. For some reasons, the man was strangely familiar but not totally. It was confusing.

"I'll tell my boss," he responded meekly.

It was probably a trick of the eye, but the stranger seemed relieved when Barry merely frowned at him in his reveal. He nodded. "Thank you, and have a good night…" He read his name tag. "Barry."

Barry could only blink as he watched the man's retreating back, forgetting to reply as he stood there dumbly.

* * *

Instantly the following night, the customer came in.

They exchanged fewer words this time, and Barry rang the man's purchase of five canned food and a pack of crackers. Barry didn't want to ask, but he was curious as to why the man was eating less when he could have afforded more, seeing as he always refused Barry returning the change he left the first time.

As the man leaves through the door, Barry realized he left another ten once again.

Barry automatically kept it with the first one, neatly folded underneath the monitor.

His lips twitched to a smile.

* * *

It became some sort of a routine—the customer coming in at exactly half past two in the morning; a few minutes in the aisles to get what he needed (Barry thought canned goods and crackers were the man's staple food after a week of purchasing only those), Barry would ring him, they would chat a little, and every other night, the man would forget about his change and Barry would remind him of it. It accumulated now and it was when Barry decided that the man has no intention of taking them.

Barry absently realized too that the man gradually discarded the articles of clothing that obscured his face. The cap was gone after two evenings; the leather jacket the following three (he wondered if the man was aware of it), until the man usually came in now in plain jeans and shirt. A shirt that was rather tight around the chest area that Barry was pointedly  _not_ looking at, mind you.

Somehow, Barry felt like he was being allowed degrees of trust by the man, if only in slowly increasing amounts. He didn't really know what gave him the notion, but he couldn't help but felt that way.

In return, he talked bits about himself, of his program at uni and his dream job after graduation. Usually, he was the one talking, and the customer was a great listener. Barry acknowledge that he was a man of few words and respected that, assuming the man has trust issues as well if the way he dressed was to go by.

It occurred to Barry one day at lunch that he didn't know the man's name.

Though even as he mentally noted to ask the evening of the same day, he would always forget, getting drowned in their nightly chats and/or the comfortable silence that exists between them.

* * *

Barry got the accumulated change one day, and before going to the grocery, he grabbed a box of donuts.

The customer might be a health nut, Barry thought too late, and then he shrugged because who doesn't like donuts? The accumulated change of his nightly customer was more than enough for a box of sixteen pieces of donut, and he used the remaining change to buy sodas later at the grocery. His boss actually allowed him to get whatever he liked at the store, but Barry always insisted on paying for what he would get.

He was done ringing the man that evening when he surprised him by placing the box of donuts beside the plastic with his new purchase of—surprise, canned goods and a pack of crackers. The man frowned in confusion and Barry merely grinned at him.

"Since you're not keen on taking your change, I used it to buy you donuts—wait, I'll get you sodas too." Barry left the counter unattended for a few minutes and returned with two cans of lemon and orange sodas. "Here."

"You don't have to," the man said after a while, still bemused. "I told you it's yours."

Barry waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense, mister. Anybody deserves donuts from time to time."

The man was on the verge of pushing the box back to Barry when he suddenly sighed resignedly, lips quirking to a small smile. "Thank you then, but I'm afraid you'll have to share it with me."

Barry blinked as the man opened the box and nudged the lemon soda to Barry's direction. "Alright."

They didn't speak when they eat, and Barry noticed the man was tentatively taking bites on his first donut. He let him to it, one hand finding his paper and proofreading his essay due for the day after tomorrow.

Barry was munching thoughtfully, unaware of the eyes watching him until he finished reading the seven pages long essay. The man didn't remove his gaze at him, eyes moving to Barry's mouth, making the latter's inside squirm under the attention. Barry flushed slightly, looking away.

The man pulled a white cloth from his pocket, darting to Barry's face and wiping on the corner of his lips, much to Barry's utter shock. He froze, but didn't move away from the handkerchief.

"Chocolate," was the man's only explanation.

"Oh," Barry replied dumbly.

The comfortable silence turned awkward right then.

"I should go." The man bid farewell, heading for the door. "Thank you again, Barry."

Barry stood there, staring at nothing, and for once didn't bother to follow the customer's retreating back.

* * *

They never interacted with more than words.

Barry went flustered when he remembered what happened last night and how out of the blue it was.

Pleasant though.

He just hoped it wasn't too awkward later on.

…

It would be ten more minutes before Barry's shift was officially over.

The man didn't show.

* * *

Barry felt ridiculous watching the door every time the bell chimes.

It wasn't as if he was waiting for five nights for the customer to show.

Well, he  _was_ , but he was close to giving up by tonight.

It was currently half an hour past three. Still nothing.

Barry idly pushed away his papers under his laptop. He was done with what he needed to finish and was left with hours to kill.

There was a clique of three males and two females who came in fifteen minutes later, and Barry was the apologetic one who said he couldn't sell them liquor seeing as they were underage, no matter how much they pouted and one of the girl batting her eyelashes cutely at him. They left fuming as if offended.

They would be thanking him for extending the lifespan of their livers, he thought wearily.

It wasn't even long when the door chimes again, and he thought those teenagers were back to persuade him, when he looked up from his book and found the nightly customer who hadn't been around recently.

He didn't get a basket this time, nor to the aisles; he went straight to Barry, looking drawn like he didn't get enough sleep. He was panting slightly, as if he ran all the way to the grocery from wherever he came from.

"Hello," the man said first.

"Hey," Barry said tentatively. He smiled in assurance once he saw him hesitated. Barry thought he would be apologizing, even if Barry himself didn't know what for.

Though what came out was, "Are you sure you really don't know me?"

Barry blinked, taken aback. "Should I?"

It was more than relief that flooded the man's features this time—he laughed lowly, awestruck and fond as if Barry gave him the most unexpected but the best answer. Heck, it wasn't even a statement.

His laugh, though, tugged at Barry's heartstrings when it shouldn't, and  _wow, he sounds really good_.

Barry reddened at that, clearing his throat to compose himself.

The man took it differently, stopping himself but his eyes remained alighted with mirth and softness. "I'm sorry. I haven't laughed for a while."

Barry could see that, and he was suddenly sad for this person if it was so.

The man's voice took a more serious tone when he said, "I'll be moving away tomorrow morning."

"Oh." Barry tried not to sound disappointed. "I suppose this is good bye?" he asked, surprised that he sounded even.

"For now," the man said. "It was nice knowing you, Barry."

"You too," Barry said, smiling warmly.  _Even if I don't even know_   _your_   _name._ He didn't say, because the man must have his own reason for keeping it from Barry. And he respected that. He held out a hand. "I'll see you around, maybe."

Except the man didn't take it for a handshake, but instead used it to pull Barry over the counter and in seconds his warm, chapped lips were on Barry's unsuspecting ones.

It was over as quick as Barry exhaled, but it held promise more than words, and somehow that was enough for them both.

"I've been wanting to do that," the man admitted. "Take care of yourself, and I wish you all the best."

Barry wished him all the best too as he grinned, squeezing the man's hand.

* * *

Name or no name, Barry wasn't one to forget a person like that despite the years that passed.

He graduated with flying colors and joined CCPD as CSI. He got memos on his lateness, and the crime scenes were too gruesome occasionally, but it was alright because he was loving his job more and more each day.

He was finished reading forensic reports that time, about a homicide case that was only briefly mentioned in news and occupied a small space in the front page of newspapers, one of the side news overshadowed by the current sensation: Billionaire Playboy Oliver Queen turning out alive after five years presumed dead.

Barry didn't know the person other than as a celebrity Iris used to gush on, but whenever Barry saw him at TVs and newspapers, he has this nagging feeling that Oliver Queen wasn't a complete stranger to him.

He dismissed the thought on his way out to grab coffee. And he wasn't even far from the front steps of the CCPD when he noticed a lone man standing at bottom of the steps, in sharp suit and looking like he was fresh out of a magazine cover.

It was Oliver Queen, and he was waving at Barry. He actually looked sheepish, and apparently, he was carrying a box of donuts and two sodas.

And just like that, everything clicked into place.

* * *

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> _Oliver Queen was thought to be dead by the world a year after the unfortunate boat trip. They didn't know he was stranded on an island, got out, and attempting to contact his family, much to Argus's displeasure. To keep those important to him from danger, Oliver settled briefly in the neighboring city, Central City._


End file.
